Angel, Page 43

Page 43

 

  We came to the turnoff for the interstate. With a shrug, Alex accelerated as he merged. “If that’s how you found out, then I’m glad it happened. If you hadn’t seen what you did, we both might be dead right now. ”

  And I knew he was right, but that just seemed . . . too easy somehow. I shook my head, my feelings too tangled to put into words.

  For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. I curled up with my head against the seat, staring out at the passing cars and the high green hills. Then Alex looked across at me. “Hey,” he said. “You were right about the air filter, too, you know. It needed to be replaced. ”

  “Yeah?” Was I actually supposed to care?

  He nodded, his fingers lightly tapping the wheel. “So, how come you know so much about cars, anyway?”

  I grimaced. “Alex, I don’t feel like —”

  “Come on, tell me. I’d like to know. ” His eyes met mine, and my throat clenched at the understanding I saw there. He knew exactly how I felt; he was trying to help. “Did you take a class on it in school or something?” he went on.

  A few billboards flashed past. I stared out at them, still seeing the woman; still hearing her baby cry. “No, it wasn’t offered. ”

  “How, then?”

  I sighed and shifted in the seat. “Do you really, seriously want to know this?”

  He smiled. “Yes, I really, seriously want to know this. ”

  “OK. ” I sat up, trying to gather my thoughts. “It was because of my aunt Jo. See, Mom and I have lived with her from the time I was nine, and she’s always been sort of horrible about it. I mean, she helps take care of Mom, but she’s always complaining about how expensive it is, having us both there. Anyway, one day her car broke down, and she just wouldn’t stop talking about how much it was going to cost. So I went to the library and got a book on do-it-yourself car repair, and I fixed it. ”

  Alex laughed out loud, and something hard and tight eased within me. The pain in my hands faded as my nails relaxed from my palms.

  “Really?” he said. “Oh man, that’s excellent. ”

  “Yeah. ” In spite of myself, I smiled at the memory, too. “She took a taxi to work that day, and I played hooky from school and fixed it. It was just the alternator; all I had to do was go to the dump and get a new one. You should have seen her face when she got home — I think she’d really been looking forward to a few weeks of complaining. ”

  “I bet. ” He gave me a considering look, his eyes warm. “How old were you?”

  I thought. “Thirteen? Anyway, then I just got really into it. I like engines. They’re not actually that complicated. There’s a real . . . logic to them. ”

  “Well, it’s about all I can do to check the oil,” said Alex, changing lanes as he passed a truck. “So I’m pretty impressed. ”

  “Yeah, but you’re James Bond,” I said. “James Bond doesn’t have to fix his own car. ”

  He grinned. “True. Plus I used to have a car that was actually from this century, which helped. ”

  His Porsche. I thought of it sitting in the parking lot in the Bronx. Except that I seriously doubted it was still there. “Did it bother you, having to abandon it?” I asked, propping my feet up on the cracked vinyl seat.

  “Not really. It was a great car, but getting killed would have bothered me a lot more. ”

  “And, anyway, the Mustang’s a great car, too,” I said after a pause.

  His eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking, right?”

  For a second I thought he was joking. “No, I’m not, actually. It’s a complete classic. ”

  “Um, yeah. Is that another way of saying it’s a broken-down wreck?”

  I felt my jaw drop. “Alex! Come on, this is the classic American muscle car. A ’69 Mustang is iconic. I mean, think of American Graffiti. Would George Lucas have had Porsches in it? No, he would not. ”

  His face twisted as he tried not to laugh. “OK, I sense that I’m losing this argument. ”

  “Well, at least you admit it. ” Suddenly I felt a lot more like myself again; it was a huge relief. We had gotten away; we were safe. Maybe the dream that had saved us had been more half-angel freakery, but I didn’t have to think about that now; I could put it aside. And Alex was right — as horrible as it had been to see the angel feeding, I couldn’t have done anything to help the woman.

  I gazed across at him, taking in the firm slant of his cheekbones, his bluish eyes and dark hair. And though I never would have believed it our first few days together, it struck me now how kind he was. How really, truly kind.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at me. “You’re welcome. What for?”

  “You know what for,” I said. “That . . . really helped. Thanks. ”

  He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “You just can’t let it consume you when you see something like that,” he said finally, running his hands along the wheel. “It’s hard, but you have to let it go. ”

  Outside, Tennessee glided past, the dramatic hills becoming gentle and rolling. We skirted around Memphis, and by five o’clock we’d crossed the Mississippi River, curving wide and vast below us. Halfway over the bridge, we were into Arkansas, where all at once the land flattened, turning into broad fields dotted with trees.

  In the driver’s seat, Alex shifted, flexing his shoulders.

  “You know, I could drive for a while,” I suggested.

  His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at me. “You want to?”

  “Yeah, I do, actually,” I said. “It’ll give you a break and get us there a little faster. Besides, I’ve never driven a Mustang before. ”

  He grinned. “Well, I know you won’t believe me if I say you’re not missing much. But yeah, thanks — I’ll take you up on that. ” He pulled over to the side of the road, and we got out to switch sides. The late-afternoon sun beat down on us. It was so strange that it was still almost summer here; back home we’d all be wearing sweaters and jackets.

  I paused in front of the car, looking out at a field of crops. Short, twiggy-looking bushes with heavy balls of white on them, like snowfall. I did a double take as I realized what they were. “Is that actually cotton?”

  Alex stopped beside me, his hands in his back pockets. A slight breeze ruffled his dark hair. “Yeah, you get a lot of it down here. Rice, too. ”

  I gazed at him, thinking that even if he’d never been to school, he knew so much more than most of the people I’d ever known. “Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I asked. “At the camp?”

  He nodded. “A couple of the AKs were Mexican — I just sort of picked it up. Plus we weren’t far from the border; we used to go over into Mexico sometimes. ” He looked down at me with a smile. “Hey, are you trying to get out of driving?”

  His eyes were warm, full of laughter. Suddenly I had an insane urge to just step forward and slip my arms around his waist. I shook it away. “Nope,” I said, holding my hand out. “Here, give me the keys. ”

  Slowly, we crossed through Arkansas. The Mustang was great to drive. The tracking was a little off, but the wheel under my hands just felt amazing, like holding a piece of history. As I drove, the sun gradually vanished below the horizon, so that by the time we got to Oklahoma, it was so dark that I couldn’t make out the countryside at all.